


The Best Cure

by lunaseemoony



Series: Promises [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Babies, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Time Babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 10:21:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4518165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaseemoony/pseuds/lunaseemoony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor bites off a little more than he can chew when he offers to take care of a sick baby Oliver while Rose rests up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Cure

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is tied to [Hide & Seek](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4203540). I might recommend reading that one first, but it's not strictly necessary.

 

“Yes, I know it's not mum, but mum's sleeping,” The Doctor reminded the infant curled up in his lap. He swirled the bottle in his hand, sloshing the milk inside for the little one to see. “Still direct from the source, you know.”

When Oliver batted the bottle away, the Doctor's grip on it slipped and it fell to the carpet at his feet. Oliver squawked his complaint, or tried to at least. It morphed into a wheezing cough, and then yet another frustrated cry. The Doctor leaned over and picked up the bottle. He pressed it to Oliver's lip, but it wouldn't budge. Instead, his stubborn 9 month old whipped his head and only cried louder. Part of him couldn't blame the boy. Trying to convince even a pint-sized man that a vaguely nipple-shaped rubber thing was a breast was a futile task, and certainly not a replacement for the real thing.

The Doctor picked up the bottle and sighed, rolling his head in frustration. “Come on, just a few sips for your dad, hm? Just so I can tell your mum when she gets up that I'm not a total failure.” Oliver's response came in the form of a wail. “Sh, sh. Complain all you want. You wore out your mum. She needs to rest before you can have her back.”

Intentions were lost on Oliver at that point, who pierced both the Doctor's ears and hearts when he broke out into a hoarse squall. His pale face ripened to sickly shade of pink as he curled into himself, breaking free of his blanket to begin kicking at the Doctor's arm. He may have been small, but he was no less strong for it. The Doctor picked him up, but in the midst of his frustration, Oliver wouldn't have his comforts. His cries couldn't last more than a minute, however, because his pulmonary tubes must have been on fire at that point. The caterwauling fell prey to a fit of coughs that had his son's little body convulsing in his arms.

The Doctor's brows weighed on his glistening eyes watching his son in distress. He whimpered and cried between each cough, murmured pleas for relief or his mummy, whichever could come first. Oddly enough, the Doctor wanted Rose, too. It was the first time in a while that he'd agreed they had anything in common. They both needed her. Rose's gentle soul could heal the deepest wounds. If Ollie ached for her in a similar way that the Doctor did, he couldn't blame the little one for being distressed. The Doctor brought Oliver to his face to kiss his temple, sending what little calm he could offer rippling through the soft patch of skin there. He didn't make a habit of using telepathy on his son, but some moments warranted it. The Doctor's hearts couldn't still their desperate flapping at their cage when Ollie's anxiety was buzzing around the nursery like an angry hornet.

He was out of options. The Doctor had already given him a dose of a fever reducer and a drop of cough medicine. It was all he felt safe giving little Oliver. But it wasn't enough for relief. And he was quickly learning that the only fever reducer that was safe for his Gallifreyan son was of course the only one that wouldn't actually reduce his fever. No wonder he was craving his mother's warmth. A human would make for the best heating pad a feverish Gallifreyan could ask for.

After wrestling him into taking a few sips of water, the Doctor's options were limited, so he swathed Oliver in his nerve-wracked arms and curled up with him on the plush floor. If they could just survive long enough for Rose to get some rest, they'd be alright. The Doctor wriggled out of his leather jacket and draped it over Oliver. It didn't do much to muffle the unearthly rattling in his chest that brought searing tears to the Doctor's eyes. But it bundled them up in a thin net of safety. It offered a little bit of comfort to go along with the fairytale that the Doctor began to recite to Oliver while they made attempts at calming one another down. The Doctor unbuttoned Oliver's shirt and rested his palm on his chest, worrying his thumb over the child's tiny ribs. All the while he drew soothing circles on Ollie's cheek with his nose. A thin veil of peace fell over the nursery, but it shook with each raspy baby cough.

“Oh, my poor babies,” sighed an angel in the doorway some time later.

Upon hearing his mother's dulcet greeting, Oliver made an alligator roll out of the Doctor's arms and scrambled on his knees across the room. He latched on to her jim jams and pulled himself up. And as though his presence wasn't already known, he cried up at Rose while bobbing his knees. Though he couldn't see, the Doctor fully expected Oliver to bat his eyelashes at her in the same way she had with him when they first met. Oliver molded himself to her chest after Rose scooped him right up.

“Were you being nice to Daddy, Ollie?” Rose mouthed against his crown.

The Doctor could barely see the whites of Rose's eyes, obscured behind heavy swollen curtains. And what was supposed to be white was an angry red. Oliver gurgled a whine into her chest and tugged at the collar of her sleep shirt. She swayed in the doorway as her eyelids flapped open and shut. The Doctor dragged himself up off the floor and padded across the room to tuck her sticky hair behind her ear.

“Rose, you should go back to sleep. We can handle this,” the Doctor offered. He wanted to swallow these words. They didn't sit right, and he knew it. But Rose's exhaustion nipped at the inadequacy stuck in his throat.

“I didn't catch a wink,” Rose kissed into Oliver's temple. “I tried, really. Something just felt wrong. I know you can do it, Doctor. I just... as long as he's like this it's like he's reaching out to me. And I can't think straight or relax unless I can see him.”

She claimed all the time that she was rubbish at this, being a mum. But her instincts were stronger than most mothers he'd seen in centuries.

“You're dead on your feet,”

“Did he eat?” Rose asked, and peered over at the rocking chair with the full bottle in it.

The Doctor shook his head with pursed lips. “Couldn't convince him. Kept fussing for you. I can't blame him.”

“He didn't nurse earlier, he's probably starving,” Rose sighed. Evidence to her suggestion came in the form of Ollie's continued tugging at her shirt. “First I think mummy and daddy and Ollie need a bit of a kip, yeah?” She stroked behind his ear and hummed. “Then maybe we can tackle this monster cough.”

The Doctor followed Rose's lead down the corridor the short distance to their shared room. The twisted mass of sheets and blankets that made a nest on top of the bed served as proof that she'd spent the entire time fretting over Ollie. It was no wonder he was miserable. They both were. Rose set Oliver down in the middle of this nest so she could peel off her sleep shirt. She paused for a moment, perhaps figuring while she was at it the jim jams could come off too, so they did. The Doctor threw off his jumper and toed off his shoes as they each crawled into bed. Rose's mere presence brought a peace to both of the men that they'd both been sorely aching for.

“He hates me,” the Doctor confessed while raking Rose's naked midriff closer in their spoon.

“'course he doesn't, Doctor,” Rose chided gently as she cradled Oliver up to her chest. She didn't need to encourage him or argue with him this time. He pawed at her breast and latched on only a few moments after they'd settled into bed. “He loves you. He's just hungry, silly plum.”

“Hungry and plenty frustrated,” the Doctor added while freeing his hand to trace his finger along Oliver's arm and belly.

“How long d'you think this cough will last, Doctor?” Rose yawned.

“A couple days, if we're lucky.”

Rose shifted and leaned back into him. “Think we could just spend them here? Cuddling's good medicine, isn't it?”

The Doctor beamed against her hair. “Oh Rose, you're the best cure, you ought to know.”

 

 

 


End file.
